Severe Tire Damage
by Vatrixsta Cruden
Summary: Every story has a beginning; some just happen to start in the middle of something else.


TITLE: Severe Tire Damage

AUTHOR: Vatrixsta Cruden

  
EMAIL: vatrixstacruden@hotmail.com

WEBSITE: http://www.purebluesun.com/thetalon/

  
RATING: PG  
  
CATEGORY: SRA  
  
SPOILERS: Um, yes? S1. Nothing too all fired important, though.   
  
KEYWORDS: Lex/Lana  
  
DISTRIBUTION: My fic is archived solely at The Talon. Anyone who desires to do so is more than welcome to link to me. Drop me a line first, though, please.

DISCLAIMER: Oh, like they're gonna sue over fanfic.  
  
FEEDBACK: Duh. Listen carefully: I. Am. A. Whore.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is actually a prequel of sorts, to another of my fics, 'Sail You Home'. Assuming I don't slack off too badly, there will eventually be a sequel to both of them, turning the whole thing into a trilogy. More notes to follow.

SUMMARY: Every story has a beginning; some just happen to start in the middle of something else. 

~

Severe Tire Damage

By Vatrixsta Cruden

~

At this precise moment in time, I'm so bored I wouldn't be surprised if my eyes have actually glazed over. No one seems to be noticing, though, and I'm still making all the requisite "hmms" and "ohs" and "how interestings." Of course, no performance would be complete without subtle nodding every now and then. Of all the skills I've learned tonight, the most valuable may very well be convincingly feigned interest. 

Why did Clark, Chloe, and I beg Lex to let us tag along?

Because it was Metropolis. Because it was the grand opening of the elaborately constructed Museum of Journalism and Clark and Chloe were desperate to attend; I was just feeling desperate to spend some time out with my closest friends. It didn't hurt that we would be somewhere glamorous and fun -- somewhere that we were anonymous. 

Lex introduced us as "friends from out of town" -- he never mentioned Smallville and I wonder if he's psychic, if he could somehow sense how much I, especially, didn't want to be associated with the person I really am. 

((Am I, though? Is that girl who lives in Smallville the definition of who I am? Do I really know? Does Clark? Chloe? Does Lex even know?))

Not that my thoughts are particularly heavy. Earlier, I had smiled coyly at a waiter and he'd given me a glass of champagne. I don't really care for the taste, but the bubbles tickle against my upper lip as I sip the bitter liquid delicately and it makes me feel older. Different.

Sensing a pattern yet?

Sometimes, I want nothing more than to simply be older, to suddenly and irrevocably cease to be that girl in a fairy princess costume on the cover of a magazine. If I were all grown up, maybe people would forget that I'm that sad child who lost her parents under such freakish circumstances. 

"Aren't you underage, Ms. Lang?" 

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I turn to regard Lex Luthor solemnly.

"I'm not Lana Lang tonight," I declare boldly. 

He quirks an eyebrow at me ((Like Mr. Spock)), his own lips turning upward into a smirk. "You do a fetching impersonation of her."

"Impersonation of who?" 

Clark Kent doesn't look too shabby in a tuxedo either, that's for damn sure. 

"Your English teacher," Lex lied smoothly. I shouldn't be grateful for a lie, but I am. I'm not sure if Clark would understand my need for a secret identity, even if she was awfully similar to the regular me.

"Mr. Bartlett?" Clark clarifies, a bemused smile touching his lips.

This is a conversation moving full steam ahead down the road to Hell. 

"Is that Chloe?" I wonder aloud, inclining my head toward the pretty blonde girl commanding the attention of several Daily Planet reporters across the room. 

"She's in her element," Clark notes. "They're eating out of the palm of her hand. Her internship this summer went so well, they're already hinting at bringing her back next year."

"That's wonderful," I say sincerely. Chloe has a dream, something to focus on and work toward. I envy her that. Clark can't seem to take his gaze off of her, pride beaming from every pore. It seems I envy Chloe Sullivan a lot these days. 

"So, Clark," Lex says, filling in the lull in conversation, "what do you think of tonight's proceedings?"

"A little dull," he answers, and I try not to roll my eyes at the understatement. 

"I tried to warn you," Lex playfully gloats.

"Next time you tell us Metropolis functions aren't all they're cracked up to be, I promise we'll believe you," Clark says with a laugh. 

"Next time," I point out, tossing another glance toward the enraptured Daily Planet staff, "you can just bring Chloe."

"Luthor! Where have you been hiding all evening?" 

"By the bar, Peter," Lex notes, deadpan. "Peter James, these are some friends of mine from out of town." 

"Clark Kent," Clark offers, holding out a hand. A woman carrying an arrangement of flowers approaches Lex. I hear a snippet of conversation, something about 'generous contribution' and I hide a grin at how many times this has happened tonight. Peter James is looking at me expectantly, and I force my focus back to him.

"Lana Lang," I offer with a smile. 

"Pleasure," Peter says genuinely. I think I know him from somewhere, but I can't place it. He reminds me of my Uncle Louie, robust and full of life. He even has a handlebar mustache, though the hair on the top of his head is nearly nonexistent. His eyes narrow at me and I wonder if I've spilled something on my dress. "Lang, you say?"

"Yes," I answer, a bit nervous.

"You wouldn't be . . ." He glances at Lex, whose attention is split between the effusive woman with the flowers, and giving Peter what I can only describe as a warning look. Lex is still trying to be solicitous, however, and there seems no end to Flower Lady's gratitude. Or her shameless flirting, apparently. Peter's gaze ticks over to one of the journalism displays in the corner, and I heave an internal sigh. It figures that one of the evening's fixtures would thwart my secret identity. 

"My first magazine cover before puberty," I note dryly, smiling kindly at Peter to take the sting out of my words. 

"I'm so sorry," he says genuinely.

"So am I," is the only response I can muster. Really, what do people expect me to say? Honestly, I'd like to know. What am I supposed to say? To feel? How do I respond when people tell me how sorry they are about my dead parents?

"If you don't mind my asking--" Would it really matter to you if I did? Because I do-- "do you still live in Smallville?"

"All my life," I confirm. 

"Don't you find that . . . difficult? I mean, living so close to Meteor Mile--"

"Lana's parents weren't killed near Meteor Mile," Lex interrupts, his voice like ice. Flower Lady has been dismissed, though I'm not sure exactly when or how. "They were hit by one of the stray rocks that buzzed the town. Of course, you knew that, didn't you, Peter?" 

My eyes narrow at Peter James, seeing him in a new light as he begins to bristle under Lex's scrutiny. Then I remember where I know him from -- and it certainly isn't his passing resemblance to Uncle Louie. 

"You're a reporter," Clark accuses, and he sounds angry on my behalf. 

"For the Inquisitor, " Lex adds. "Looking for an exclusive?"

  
"I'm off duty tonight," Peter answers stiffly, and he doesn't seem nice any longer, doesn't appear affable and sweet. Instead, he sets my teeth on edge and releases a flock of butterflies loose in my stomach. Then, he looks straight at me again. "Have you ever seen the Rock Cave, my dear?"

"That's enough," Lex snaps.

"I'm merely conversing with the lady," Peter insists. "It's quite fascinating," he continues, intent on me. "Superstitious people swear they can feel the energy created by the meteors in that cave; that the very secrets of the universe can be found inside."

"Allow me to show you one of the secrets of my universe," Lex interrupts, signaling to a burly guard on the opposite end of the room. "His name is Bruno and he can bench press a Toyota Celica."

"Now, now, no reason to get physical, Lex," Peter soothes, inching away from me. "I promise, Ms. Lang, I didn't mean any harm. It was just simple curiosity."

"Curse of a journalist," I mumble in reply, taking another sip of champagne. It's not making me feel older or different anymore; it's making me feel like what I am, a pathetic joke who can't move past the major trauma in her life because the world won't let her. Or maybe it's me who won't let me move on. Or maybe my limit is half a glass of champagne. 

"You all right?" Clark asks me quietly. Lex is personally overseeing Peter's ejection -- via Bruno -- from the party. 

"Fine, Clark," I answer with a big, fake smile. I'm good at big, fake smiles. 

"Do you want to get out of here?"

My smile turns a little more genuine. "I'd love to."

"Clark!" Chloe rushes towards us, teaming with energy, a huge smile on her face. "Mr. White wants to personally take us on a grand tour of the Planet, right now! Hurry, before his buzz wears off!"

"Us?" Clark asks.

  
"I told him all about you!" Chloe beams. "I also mentioned what a big help you were on my campaign reform story. Come on!"

"I was actually going to take Lana--"

"Don't worry about it," I interrupt, fake smile firmly in place. "You two go, have fun."

"But . . ."

"I'll go for a walk," I say easily. "Afterward, I'll meet you both back here and we can all go home together." 

Lex had us all driven here in one of his big cars. The four of us laughed and talked on the relatively short trip into Metropolis and it's the most fun I've had since . . . well, I can't remember. That's kind of sad. I can't remember the last time I had fun before tonight. Real fun, not artificiality dressed up for dinner. 

"If you're sure . . ." Clark Kent may be the sweetest man on planet earth. I love his sweetness, his trusting nature. It makes him a wonderful friend; easy to be with.

It makes him even easier to lie to.

"Positive. I welcome the fresh air." 

A few heartbeats go by. Perry White and a few of his reporters sweep Clark and Chloe out of the building. I decide a second glass of champagne is more than a good idea -- it's mandatory. The second waiter of the evening falls victim to my charms and unwittingly serves alcohol to a minor. 

Minor. That's what I am. Not underage, but . . . small. I play a minor part in everyone's lives. I serve them coffee and provide a shoulder for them to cry on, a shallowly pretty girl to snark about in the halls. I'm nobody's leading lady, though; I'm just the girl Clark Kent will think about every now and then when he's happily married to Chloe Sullivan. Kent. Chloe Kent. Clark and Chloe Kent. God, I want to gag just thinking about it.

Except I don't do that sort of thing. I'm nice. Lana Lang is nice and boring and sweet and destined to wind up miserable and alone because this isn't my story. My story ended a decade ago when that horrible magazine cover circulated around the world. The end. Run credits. Go watch a cardboard cutout romantic comedy to get the bad taste out of your mouth.

I'm not normally this bitter or self-pitying. The champagne is helping, I'm sure. Clark referred to my Nicodemus flower induced bitter bitchfest as 'Alpha Lana.' I don't remember details about those brief hours, but I remember emotions very well, and I don't like what I can recall. 

And what I can recall, felt a lot like this.

"Penny for your thoughts."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Come on, Lex; surely you can do better than that."

Shrugging, he plucks the empty champagne glass from my fingers and sets it onto a passing waiter's tray. "Vacation home in Tahiti for your thoughts," he corrects smoothly.

"Sorry, I prefer Hawaii." 

"Have you ever been?"

I've never been anywhere, Lex. My mom always used to say we'd all take a trip to Hawaii one day. When I was older. I'm older now, and guess what? Metropolis is as far from Smallville as I'm ever likely to get. I'll work in the Talon until I'm a dried up old hag, unhappily married to Whitney Fordham. People will still come in and recognize the eighty year old woman as the poor girl who lost her parents, despite the fact that she has children and grandchildren of her own now. Not that I'm ungrateful, Lex, really -- I appreciate the investment, as well as the time and experience you've brought to the Talon. It'll make my lifeless existence a hell of a lot more bearable. 

Well, that won't do for an answer.

"Nope. Never been anywhere, really."

That's better. Except the look on his face makes me wonder if he just heard everything I didn't say.

I expect him to offer sympathy, or make some vague allusion to taking me, Clark, and Chloe somewhere nice for Spring Break, somewhere far away from Smallville, because that's what Lex does, you see. Lex thinks no one could possibly like him, for him, so he's sure to remind them they're free to love his money; to love what he can do for them. It makes me angry, sometimes, how arrogant he is, and yet how very short he sells himself.

"I need to get out of here," he says at last. "Keep me company?" 

~

Now we're driving. Not the limousine that Lex brought us in, but a sleek, sporty little Porsche that Lex was born to drive. This car fits him, hard, sleek, and with a hefty price tag on the outside, but possessing a soft, plush interior you had to wiggle around in for awhile before you got comfortable. 

He's taking us back to Smallville. One of Lex's people at the party will explain that Ms. Lang wasn't feeling well and Mr. Luthor decided to drive her home, leaving the limo for Chloe and Clark whenever they were ready. I was long past ready to leave that party, but the last thing I want is to be home. Smallville just reminds me of all the things that make me want to scream. 

Whitney writes me love letters, and says I'm the only thing that matters to him, and I don't care. I don't care and I hate myself for it. Why can't I just say, 'Whitney, I don't want to be together anymore.' I don't think he'd really fight me all that hard. Despite his protestations that I'm all that matters to him -- he's not here. He's in the army, making a life for himself that has nothing to do with me. 

But I can't make the break. I'd always told myself, as soon as his father's doing better, as soon as we're sure he's out of the woods, I'll tell Whitney I need some time. As soon as his father's better.

His father's dead, cold and alone in the ground and I feel like I'm buried along with him, a Fordham in spirit forever and ever, amen. 

It's not like I didn't try to break up with him. A feeble defense, maybe, but it's all I can manage. I roll down the window and stick my hand out, surprised to find that it's raining softly. With a touch of regret, I close the window again. At least it doesn't seem to be a portent to another tornado. It rained the first night I spent without my parents; it rained when they buried Whitney's father, and it rained that day I drove him to the bus station. 

"You all right over there?"

"Fine," I answer automatically, hating the answer. Some silly part of me wanted to start sobbing out all the hurts and aches on my soul to Lex Luthor. 

"Ah. So that's what fine looks like."

I'm not sure whether to frown or smile at his glibness. I settle for a scowl. I'm about to make what is no doubt a withering response when the skies decide to open up in earnest.

"Jesus," Lex mutters, the car skidding slightly as the old road gets waterlogged. I notice he eases up on the gas pedal considerably.

"How far from home are we?" I wonder aloud.

"In this weather?" Lex squints, trying to see through the downpour. I can't see anything but spotty blackness. 

"We should pull over," I say. "It's not safe to drive in this, not at night."

Lex doesn't answer me, but he doesn't pull over, either. I feel stupid repeating myself, so I stay silent, too, fretting over how Nell will react to finding my dead body in an eighty thousand dollar car with Lex Luthor, out on the Old Road.

A particularly nasty bolt of lightning temporarily illuminates the sky and the sheer breadth of this storm leaves me breathless. We've had our fair share in Smallville, but this . . . it's like nothing I've ever seen before and I'm getting scared like I haven't been since I was a little girl.

"Lex--" Is that my voice? That quiet, barely-there thing? "--please, please can we pull over?" 

"This is a bad place to stop," he says firmly. 

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because? That's your answer? That wouldn't fly in grade school, it's sure as hell not going over well in the middle of this madness--"

"We're on Meteor Mile," he says tightly. 

Oh.

OH.

The car is barely crawling at this point, the road slick and dark ahead of us. We'll be on Meteor Mile for the next hour at this rate. And that's only assuming we don't--

Tree. Fire. Screeching tires I can barely hear screeching over the storm. Oh, God, I'm going to die.

Except I don't. I don't die because Lex Luthor has the fastest reflexes known to man. 

  
"Lana?" He sounds a little panicked.

  
"I'm here," I say stupidly. I can't take my gaze off the flames. It must have been a fairly big tree, one of the few to escape the meteors all those years ago, given how completely it blocked the road, and how brilliantly it lit the sky on fire. 

"We can't stay in the car," Lex declares in a tight, controlled voice. Calm panic. Only Lex.

"We can't go out there," I counter.  
  
"The front of the car impacted the tree," Lex explains calmly. "If a spark from that fire catches--"

"Yeah," I mutter. "I get it. But--"

"We're near the Rock Cave." 

Those damn butterflies are back, doing loop-de-loops in my belly. 

"How far?"

He's squinting into the distance again. "Five hundred feet, tops. The entire length of the Talon is longer."

"It's not traditionally storming inside the Talon," I note dryly. What do you know -- my sense of humor seems to improve in a crisis, provided I'm not staring down imminent death. Well, more imminent than this. Being swept up in a tornado comes to mind. Or staring down the barrel of a killer's gun. At least here, I have a modicum of control. 

"Will your door open?" Lex, it seems, is all business when death is on the line.

I try it. Then, I try it harder. "Nope."

"I can open mine. Do you see that bright green spot up ahead?"

The rain's already starting to put the fire out, but I can just barely make it out. "Yes."

"That's the cave. Crawl over me. As soon as you get the door open, head straight for it. I'll be right behind you."

"No," I say without thinking. 

"No?" He definitely sounds amused. And panicked. And calm. Damn.

"We go together," I find myself saying. 

I hear him mutter something, but I can't make it out. Then, I feel his hand at the buckle on my seatbelt, undoing it. He flings his door open, climbs out, grabs my hand, and then physically hauls me across the console and out of the car. I feel like snapping at him that I'm perfectly capable of moving on my own, but I'm already soaked to the skin and he's pulling me behind him.

His hand in mine is solid and warm, and we begin to run. I can barely open my eyes and hope that Lex knows which direction we're headed in. I hear something over the storm, feel a blast of heat at my back, and realize, rather calmly, that the car has exploded. I'm probably in shock. Can you tell when you're in shock? 

  
We only stumble for a second from the explosion, but it seems like forever as we trip and right ourselves against each other. The hand not held tightly in his is clutched against his arm. I used to do that to my mother when we were in a crowd, as though I were afraid she would lose me. Back then, I never imagined I'd be the one to lose her.

"Find the entrance!" Lex screams in my ear. I can barely hear him. Every time I open my eyes, the rain blinds me.

"I can't see anything!" I yell back.

His hand tightens on mine, and then I feel him pull me along behind him, slowly. After a minute, I realize he's feeling along the cave wall, looking for something. I wish I'd paid attention when the other kids in school were talking about this cave. Maybe then I'd be of some help.

Then, suddenly, I'm stumbling forward and the storm doesn't seem quite so intense. I open my eyes and blink a few times before they adjust to the new darkness in front of me. I wonder why it's not pitch, then realize -- the inside of the cave is literally covered in glowing green meteors, reflected by hundreds of mirrors strategically placed around the room.

"Wow," I breathe. 

"Wow," Lex parrots in a voice that reflects its lack of awe.

"You look good in green," I tell him cheekily after a moment. It almost looks like I throw him a little off balance with the remark, which makes me absurdly happy.

"Come on," he instructs, heading toward the back of the cave.

Wincing a little, I follow, mourning the loss of my favorite fancy dress. The label on the back cautions 'Do not machine wash, dry clean only'; it doesn't specify about monsoons, but I'm fairly certain its chances of survival are nil.

"Once this cave was discovered, the county opened it up as an attraction, hoping it would increase tourism," Lex notes as we make a sharp right. As I glance at the walls, I notice that it's starting to look less awesome, and more like the papier-mâché Emerald City I helped my class make for the fourth grade production of 'The Wizard of Oz.'

"Several years ago, they were approached by a corporation that was interested in increasing revenue. Toward that end, they built a man made addition onto the existing cave, blowing out the back wall and half of the meteor rock in the process."

"That's awful," I comment genuinely, catching his gaze. "Who would do something like that to a . . ." I'd been about to say 'national treasure,' then decided it didn't exactly fit. "An oddity of nature," I finally settle on.

Lex smirks. "My father." We turn another corner and I gasp a little.

Apparently, LuthorCorp decided to fly out all the props from my fourth grade talent show. I glance down at my feet and can't help the tiny smile that curves my lips: yellow brick. 

The cave itself is tiny, but the 'addition' built by LuthorCorp is as enormous and audacious as anything else that company is responsible for. The 'Munchkin Munch' snack shop is conveniently located next to the 'Wicked Witch of the Midwest' gift shop. There are picnic blankets decorating the ground, presumably in lieu of tables. I glance up and notice the ceiling is made of glass, the rain pounding down against it.

"It's the stuff they use in high rise windows," Lex explains from beside me. "Unbreakable."

I turn to him and find him extremely close. I'm about to answer, but sneeze instead. Lex shakes his head, as though pulling himself out of a trance. 

  
"There are clean blankets in the office," he says briskly, moving ahead of me. 

A few minutes later finds us both wrapped toga style in two spare sheets, two additional blankets around us for extra warmth. Lex asks if I'm hungry, and I'm starving (two glasses of champagne and a dozen crab puffs are nothing to my growling stomach), so we head back into the 'restricted' area of the Munchkin Munch. 

There are dozens of frozen delights to choose from, and I pour some oil into the deep fat fryer ("The entire place runs on a solar powered generator," Lex explained while we dressed. "That way, my father can assure the public we're doing everything possible to ensure environmental protection.") while Lex chooses for us. We should get one of these for the Talon. People are always asking me if we serve food other than the normal coffeehouse fare of Biscotti, muffins, and scones.

"Mozzarella cheese sticks, chicken fingers, and French fries," he announces, setting his spoils beside me on the counter. 

"Breakfast of champions," I murmur, dumping everything in together once the oil is hot enough. Ten minutes (and an extra large bottle of grape juice) later, we're stretched out on one of the blankets, eating fatty food, staring up at the storm this abomination of nature has saved us from. We are silent while we eat and I find myself enjoying the comfortable quiet between us.

"Well, I feel appropriately disgusting," Lex notes a while later, pushing his plate back.

"My pores feel like they're oozing grease," I agree, shoving what remains of our meal as far as I can without moving. We share the bottle of grape juice, and the moment is unbelievably surreal. Surrounded by Wizard of Oz decorations, wearing nothing more than a sheet, sharing a bottle of grape juice with Lex Luthor. Lana Lang, this is your life.

"At least you're smiling," Lex points out. "You've been frowning a lot all evening."

"Have I?" I'm surprised. I really thought I'd been smiling my big, fake smile.

"Well, not really frowning," he allows. "But you weren't exactly happy."

"It's been a long time since I've been happy," I answer ruefully. 

"Trouble in paradise?"

I nearly snicker. Lex has never made a secret just how beneath me he feels Whitney is, whether he was trying to push Clark and I together, or simply be a concerned friend. 

"Breaking up with Whitney is the most freeing thing I've ever done," I confess. "But the freedom only lasted for a few minutes. They were great, though. I was crying and confused, but I felt it -- the end of one life, and the beginning of something new." I shake my head. "I should have known the old life would be waiting for me."

"It doesn't have to be," he tells me. "You can change your life, Lana. You can set a goal and do anything and everything until you achieve it."

"It sounds like you're speaking from experience," I notice.

"I am." I give him a curious look, and he elaborates, "I made a promise to myself back in college."

"And that was?"

"That when I grew up, I would be nothing like my father. And that I would be happy."

"And are you?" The question is almost desperate; I want to know that someone is happy, I guess. That someone I know made such a simple dream come true.

"Sometimes," he concedes. "Until I realize just how much of my father is in me."

"That's not true," I deny immediately. "Your father has no compassion, no honor. You have both, Lex. You're not him." I reach out and place my hand over his, squeezing it to emphasize my words. It makes my chest ache to think of Lex comparing himself to his father, as the rest of the town does.

"Lana Lang," he murmurs with a sly grin, "my champion."

A blush stains my cheeks, and then he's suggesting we try to get some sleep. He spreads another blanket over me, tucking it carefully around my shoulders. It's a sweet gesture, and I open my mouth to say something like 'Lionel Luthor would never tuck a silly girl in before bed' but a yawn emerges instead, and Lex is rolling away from me.

I must have fallen asleep, because opening my eyes again is jarring. The storm above me isn't as wild as last night's tempest; almost a drizzle in comparison. Glancing to my right, I find Lex, staring up at the same sky. 

And he's frowning.

As I watch him, it's like a bolt of lightning. I care for Lex. I care for him in ways I shouldn't, in ways I never intended to. It's like what I feel for Clark, and just as impossible. Except with Lex . . . it's different. There's a pull toward him I'm not sure I can resist. Especially not now that I know it's there. 

I want to ease the frown from his face, to make him smile, to make him happy. I want to prove to him that he's nothing like his father. 

I want to heal Lex Luthor.

It's almost hysterical, the laughter bubbling up inside of me. I contain it, because Lex chooses that moment to look over at me. He seems surprised that I'm awake, and I force myself to smile sleepily, as though I hadn't been jarred awake by the force of my own inner musings seconds ago.

"Morning," I greet softly.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

"Like a log," I confirm.

  
"Good." 

We lapse into silence and he goes back to staring at the sky. I can't stop looking at him. I should. I need to. Sooner or later, he's going to wonder why I keep staring. It's got to bother him.

But it doesn't seem to. He just keeps looking at the sky and letting me stare at him for what must be an hour until the doors outside open and a throng of worried people -- my Aunt Nell, Lex's head of security, Chloe, a Smallville Deputy -- race inside, asking questions a mile a minute, we found the car, were you inside, is everyone all right, should we go to the hospital, your father would have been here, Mr. Luthor, if only, if only, if only.

As we're hurried out of the cave, Lex catches my gaze, and smiles sardonically at me. I return his look, then have to glance away as we leave the cave. That smile just did strange things to me, made me confused about everything, including the protective arm Clark threw around my shoulders (where did Clark come from?) as he and Lex exchanged a few brief words.

  
I wonder if I've just taken one of those life-altering steps you can never un-do. Severe tire damage; do not back up or Lex Luthor will break your heart. Option B: Proceed ahead and Lex Luthor will break your heart. 

Option C: Pretend that nothing has changed and remain in a Hell of your own making. 

Clark leads me out to one of the cars, parked a fair distance from the cave. He seems a bit unsteady. I watch the ground. White pebble. Black pebble. Gray pebble. Sharp piece of green glass. People shouldn't break bottles out here. There's all kinds of wildlife that could be harmed. A Crown Victoria. I wonder why they decided to make police cars Crown Victoria's. It took them forever to exact the change in Smallville.

I'm going to lose it any second now. I'm going to explode and start crying in front of everyone and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I nearly *died* last night. I nearly died and I'm nearly dying every single second that I live the life everyone else expects of me, instead of the life that I want. I may not know what that life is yet, but I sure as hell know what it isn't. Would Nell be mad if I threw a tantrum right here and now?

"Lana? Are you all right?"

Lex. No, not Lex. I can't handle Lex, too.

"Fine," I say stiffly.

He's dismissed his head of security, I see. The burly man who bore a striking resemblance to Bruno is checking out the hull of Lex's ex-sports car with the sheriff's deputy. 

  
"My head of security brought a car." He points to a midsize sedan. "Let me give you and Nell a ride home."

Nell said she'd come out with the deputy. The deputy who would be staying at the scene for awhile. I need to get out of here now and Lex can sense that. I read it in his eyes. How come I can read his eyes all of a sudden?

Is it really all of a sudden?

Does he know how confused I am? 

"Thank you," I find myself saying before I can give the matter further thought. 

He graces me with a smile, perversely grateful for my gratitude, then guides me to the car where Nell is already waiting. We sit in back, and Nell lets me rest my head against her shoulder, a comforting arm slung around my weary body. Lex climbs into the driver's seat, and to my surprise, Clark gets in next to him.

From my place against Nell's shoulder, my gaze ticks back and forth between Lex and Clark. It isn't like I have a decision to make. Clark and Chloe have been flirting around the edges of a real relationship for months now. I'm not even sure Clark still sees me that way and I've never been sure exactly how I feel about him. It's just that there was so much . . . potential between us. It seems a shame to just let it go.

In the rearview mirror, I realize Lex is watching me. I meet his gaze and dare him not to look away. He doesn't. And that's when I realize, he's always watching me, and not just when he thinks I'm not looking. I've just never . . . it never occurred to me that he could possibly . . . could he? Could I?

Which brings us to Option D: Proceed full speed ahead . . . and fall desperately in love with Lex Luthor.

~

END

  
END NOTES: This series (and all my other Lex/Lana biscuits, no doubt *g*) is lovingly dedicated to Giselle, without whom it literally would not exist. Not only did she whine and plead and dog me to watch Smallville to begin with, but she's wickedly sharp with her big red pen, the coolest chick I've ever known, and the dorkiest, wittiest, most competent partner in crime a girl could ask for. Moss, you *are* the wind beneath my wings. (And no, that is not my subtle way of telling you that you're dying.)


End file.
